


We Have the Stars

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gossip Girl Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: They’ll probably go their separate ways, hail two separate cabs, and Imayoshi will tiptoe past his snoring parents while Susa goes home to an empty apartment with leftover pizza in the fridge and all of last year’s SLAM and Sports Illustrated scattered around the living room because his family gives the maids this week off.





	We Have the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about the gg sequel/finale book a lot lately so this is crafted after that

The road salt’s going to ruin the leather soles of Imayoshi’s best Gucci loafers.

There’s a shoe repair place on Broadway a few stops up on the 1 train, if Imayoshi really wants to go - though he can easily afford new ones, he’s had these for a while and he likes them, and letting them die for salt without snow after a party he never wanted to attend in the first place would be a sin. The toes are slightly scuffed, but the insoles worn in to the shapes of Imayoshi’s feet, not something even his money can buy. He should have worn cheap oxfords tonight instead, as Susa is so smugly pointing out with his glances. As if Imayoshi’s going to give in that easily.

There was a time, not so long ago, that he could have half-convinced Susa that the leather soles of his favorite loafers crunching down on the salt, the closest thing city kids like them have to gravel roads (even their country houses have paved driveways, thank you very much). Susa would have wanted to be skeptical, and would have voiced it at twice the strength and certainty in his mind, betraying him; he would have seen right through Imayoshi but his doubts would still lie close to the surface. Now he seems to look straight past Imayoshi.

It’s inevitable, with Susa up in New Hampshire and Imayoshi still here, that they will grow apart. Basketball practices every day, notes stuffed through cracks in each other’s lockers, and matching uniforms and ties with hasty knots were left in the high school halls, where they belong. Imayoshi’s not glamorizing the past. Being a teenager had been exhausting, being trapped in the classroom and shuttled from room to room to college tour to extracurricular only to repeat the same routine the next day had been the opposite fun. The parties had been good, for what sixteen-year-olds could throw together. They’re better now that they don’t have to pretend to sneak around their alcohol and cigarettes (and the harder stuff, where applicable). And they’re better now that Imayoshi doesn’t have to see all these people all of the time. Or maybe it’s worse, because fewer threads tie them together, and there are fewer things to talk about.

That’s not the problem with him and Susa. They always have plenty on the table, conversation topics snatched from the plate between them, chips played carefully as they scan and re-scan their own hands of cards. It’s not always a game, but they’ve always delighted in finding cracks to rub against. And Imayoshi’s soles are typical, something to notice and acknowledge, but that’s all they are, no more.

They’ll probably go their separate ways, hail two separate cabs, and Imayoshi will tiptoe past his snoring parents while Susa goes home to an empty apartment with leftover pizza in the fridge and all of last year’s _SLAM_ and _Sports Illustrated_ scattered around the living room because his family gives the maids this week off. Last year, they would have gone back together and had sex or stopped at the bodega for pancake mix that would have eventually been thrown out because they’d go get lobster benedict somewhere for brunch instead.

The light at the corner turns green and Susa raises his hand to flag down a cab.

“No goodbye?” says Imayoshi.

“You’re not coming with me?” says Susa.

“I can’t wear these shoes tomorrow,” says Imayoshi. “The salt is ruining them, and it’s going to snow.”

“Borrow a pair of my dad’s.”

A taxi pulls over and Susa opens the door. He looks back at Imayoshi for a second, and gets in.

“I reckon I could,” says Imayoshi, grabbing the door and pulling himself in afterwards. “Even though you didn’t hold the door for me.”

“Is that what you want?” says Susa.

Can he not tell? Had he lost the ability to read Imayoshi, somewhere during this collection of semesters and summers spent apart, school vacations that never match up? Is that really enough to shake off years of orbiting each other?

Those are melodramatic questions that Imayoshi will never ask and doesn’t want to ask aloud. He’ll find out the answer soon enough, whether he wants to hear it or not. Time won’t keep them in this state of questions for too long; it will wash them on the same shore or opposite shores and Imayoshi will probably know before then anyway.

“Have you slept with anyone else?”

“Imayoshi.”

“Just curuious.”

Imayoshi looks out the window; what looks like a stray snowflake floats past. It could just be salt, floating on a ride from car tires. It could just be the reflection of the street lights off apartment windows and side mirrors on parked cars.

“No, I haven’t.”

It’s not the answer Imayoshi was expecting, but if he’s being honest with himself a yes would be just as unanticipated. The cab pulls over, a bit of a walk from the door to Susa’s building. Susa rummages in his pocket and pulls out a stack of bills, peeling off a generous tip for the driver. Imayoshi holds the door open for Susa and offers a hand to pull him out. Susa takes it.

Imayoshi’s standing on the sidewalk, leaving him on Susa’s eye level for once. The cab pulls away and Susa closes the front of his overcoat with his free hand.

“I didn’t think you’d answer that,” says Imayoshi.

“I know,” says Susa. “I know that’s why you asked.”

Imayoshi smiles. He’s been jumping to the wrong conclusions, because he’s been asking the wrong questions in his own head.

“You’ve been acting weird,” says Susa.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Imayoshi.

This time, Susa’s look says he does see right through him, perhaps to the strange mass of insecurities and uncertainties that lead Imayoshi to think those stupid thoughts in the first place. Susa tweaks Imayoshi’s nose.

“It’s fucking cold out here.”

Susa holds Imayoshi’s hand all the way to the door. If there’s salt right under Imayoshi’s soles, he doesn’t notice it.


End file.
